


there's just something about watching a crime

by ohmcgee



Series: little beasts [3]
Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, bottom!bruce, little beasts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-08-11 06:30:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7880143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohmcgee/pseuds/ohmcgee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Maybe,” Harvey says, leaning in to clip the skin of Bruce’s throat between his teeth. “But you’re too pretty for prison, Bruce.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	there's just something about watching a crime

About a year after Bruce gets back in Gotham he pretty much has everyone in his pocket, but there are still a few loose ends. A few good cops and decent citizens that can’t deal with his particular brand of justice, that think he needs to be stopped. When Harvey suggests they do something about Jim Gordon Bruce just steeples his fingers together and says _no._

“But he’s spearheadIng the whole operation Bruce. If we took him out the whole case would --”

“I said _no_ ,” Bruce says calmly, but with enough force and intent behind it to make Harvey shut up for once. 

“Fine,” Harvey says, pouring another glass of scotch. “Fine. You know, sometimes I think you just want to get caught.”

“You’d get me out,” Bruce says confidently, stealing the glass from Harvey’s hand and draining half of the scotch he just poured. Harvey smirks and snatches the glass back from him, tips the rest back then pushes his hand into Bruce’s hair. He has this fetish for messing his hair up, for messing _him_ up. It used to be annoying, but Bruce has mostly gotten used to it by now.

“Maybe,” Harvey says, leaning in to clip the skin of Bruce’s throat between his teeth. “But you’re too pretty for prison, Bruce.”

“Hn,” Bruce says, closing his eyes when Harvey bites _hard_ , leaving deep indentations of his teeth into Bruce’s shoulder. “That your way of saying you’d miss me?”

Harvey laughs, loud and boisterous. Bruce has never heard anyone laugh the way Harvey does, has never heard laughter sound so _threatening._ “I’m saying,” he says, squeezing Bruce’s ass. “Be fucking careful.”

 

: : :

 

Two months later Bruce is sitting in a courtroom. He still stands by his decision about Jim Gordon. The man’s decent, has a family. He’s not like the rest of the crooked cops in Gotham, he really does want to make the city better and Bruce can’t fault him for that. They’re both trying to do the same thing, they just have vastly different ideas on how to do it. 

In retrospect, he might should have paid more attention to the “careful” bit of Harvey’s little speech. 

It happened eight months after he got back, right after things had really gotten moving, and Bruce got sloppy. He got _cocky_ , as Harvey likes to put it -- and has, at least a hundred times now -- and he fucked up. Someone saw him leaving, a prostitute named April, and got scared shitless by the cops and now here they all are. Harvey made him wear a tie. He fucking hates ties. 

“OBJECTION,” Harvey screams to Bruce’s right, standing up from his chair with such force that his chair tips backward and all the files fall off the desk in front of him. “Leading the goddamn witness!”

“Language, Mr. Dent,” the judge says severely, then sighs and turns to the prosecutor. “Sustained. Stay on topic, Ms. Spencer.”

“Yes, your honor,” Spencer says and Harvey sits back down in a huff.

“If you get thrown out for contempt,” Bruce says under his breath as he hands Harvey the papers that scattered when he stood up. “I’ll kill you myself.”

Harvey gives him a shark-like grin, flashes teeth that Bruce can still feel in his thighs, his ass. “You can try,” he says between his teeth, then stands up, unbuttoning the middle button on his suit jacket, winking at Bruce before approaching the bench. “Time to earn my keep.”

 

: : :

 

“ _Jesus_ ,” Harvey hisses, dragging his fingers under his nose after he does a line off of the grand piano in Bruce’s living room, banging his fist on the top of it when the coke hits him full on. “Fuck, that’s good shit. You need to try some of this.”

“I’m good,” Bruce says, holding up the bottle of Scotch that’s in his hand. Harvey got him off, because of course he did. Harvey might be the most corrupt lawyer in Gotham, but he’s also still the _best_ fucking lawyer in Gotham; Bruce wasn’t worried for a fucking second. “Enjoy. You deserve it.”

“Goddamn right I deserve it,” Harvey says, eyes blown big and black as he unbuttons his shirt all the way down, strips his tie off and flings it across the room. “I was fucking amazing up there. They didn’t know what hit them. I’m pretty sure I made the jury wet with my closing argument.”

“Well,” Bruce says, sitting the bottle of Macallan on the coffee table. “I was going to offer to suck your dick, but it seems you’re doing a fine job of that yourself.”

“Bitch,” Harvey smirks, stalking over to Bruce and pushing his fingers into his hair, grasping the ends of it tight before tilting Bruce’s head back to look up at him, suddenly serious.“You could’ve went to prison.”

“Yes,” Bruce says, sliding the zipper down on Harvey’s trousers and taking his dick out. “But I’m not.”

Harvey tilts his head back and groans when Bruce swallows him down, keeps his hand buried in Bruce’s hair and doesn’t go soft or easy, just gets Bruce into the rhythm he likes and fucks his mouth. That’s the thing Bruce has always liked about Harvey most. Everyone -- after his parents died, everyone always acted like he was made of fucking porcelain, that he’d break if they said the wrong thing. Everyone always held back -- except for Harvey. The first time they met Harvey called him a pussy and punched him in the face.

“Fuck Bruce, your fucking mouth,” Harvey groans, pushing his thumb in beside his cock, looking down at Bruce with solid black eyes and the tip of his nose red, the scar on the underside of his jaw, a souvenir from his asshole of a father. He doesn’t know, Bruce thinks. He has no idea how much Bruce appreciates him, how much he fucking needs him. 

“Christ,” Harvey snaps when Bruce pulls off, his face flushed bright red. “The fuck are you doing, I was about to --”

“Fuck me,” Bruce says, his hands splayed out across Harvey’s thighs. He’s never -- he’s fucked Harvey a time or two, played with himself a little, but he’s never --

He’s never wanted anything so bad in his life. 

Harvey sucks in a breath, barely audible but Bruce catches it, and grabs hold of Bruce’s hair again as he stares down at him. “Yeah,” he murmurs, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Yeah, I’m gonna fuck you.”

He walks across the room to get the baggie of coke first though, watches Bruce strip out of his clothes as he makes his way back over to the couch, then bends Bruce over the back of the couch, bites the back of his neck, drags his tongue down the curve of Bruce’s spine until he’s kneeling behind him. 

“Goddamn you,” Harvey mutters as he slides his hands up the back of Bruce’s thighs, shakes a line of coke out right above the crack of his ass. Bruce shivers as he feels Harvey snort the coke off of his skin, digs his teeth into his bottom lip when Harvey _growls_ and spreads him open. “God fucking damn you, Bruce.”

He doesn’t start slow, doesn’t tease. He goes at Bruce’s hole like he’s starved for it, licking and lapping sloppily, eating him out like he could stay there for the rest of his life, and Bruce gives up on not making noise after a few seconds of that, starts groaning and swearing, cursing Harvey and God and anybody who will fucking listen, starts grinding back against Harvey’s mouth because he needs _more._

When Harvey finally sits back Bruce feels loose and open, exposed, feels Harvey’s spit warm and wet, dripping down his ass and the inside of his thighs. 

“You’re a fucking messy eater, you know that?” Bruce says, trying to twist his head around to look at him, and Harvey just chuckles and pushes two fingers inside of him with no warning. “ _Fuck_ , Harvey --”

“Mmyeah,” Harvey growls, his fingers pushing in even deeper when he crowds up behind Bruce to murmur in his ear. “Say my name just like that, sweetheart.”

“Christ,” Bruce shudders and laughs at the same time, a moan slipping in there near the end when Harvey’s fingers brush his prostate. “I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure I’m slick enough, so --”

“Jesus christ,” Harvey laughs, that loud kind of laugh that shakes the panes on the windows and frightens small children. “Gotta be in charge even when you’re getting fucked, don’t you?”

“Well if you’d fucking --”

“Oh, there’s gonna be fucking,” Harvey grins and scrapes his teeth across the back of Bruce’s neck, shoves his fingers inside of Bruce so hard it _hurts_ in the best fucking way. “Gonna fuck you so hard you’re gonna feel me for days, Bruce. Fuck you so hard your tight little hole’s gonna be all stretched out, just waiting for me to --”

“Would you shut the fuck _up_ ,” Bruce grits out. 

Harvey’s still laughing as he grips Bruce’s hips and yanks him back on his cock. “Oh _fuck_.”

“God,” Bruce gasps, realizes the blood he tastes in his mouth is his own from biting into his own lip. “You --”

“Yeah,” Harvey grunts out, pulling out, then snapping his hips against him again. “Me.”

When Harvey gets into a rhythm, brutal and relentless, just the way he knows Bruce wants it, Bruce just lets go. He lets Harvey fuck him, use him. He lets all the shit he’s had to think about the last few weeks, about how bad he fucked up and how Harvey would think it was on him if he didn’t win, let’s all of that go and just lets Harvey do this for him. 

When Harvey’s arm comes around his chest to pull him up, Bruce lets him. When Harvey says, “C’mon,” and shoves his hand under Bruce’s nose, the arch between his thumb and forefinger lined with coke, Bruce snorts it up and tilts his head back, lets Harvey lick the dust off his mouth and face, lets the high pound through him just as hard as Harvey’s cock is pounding into him. 

Harvey bruises his neck up as he fucks into him, fingers vice-grip tight around his hips, muttering filth against his throat, ponographic things about how tight Bruce is, how he wants to fill him with his come and lick it straight out of him. But as he gets closer he gets less coherent, leaving out words between sentences, trailing off in the middle of thoughts. 

“You fucking --” He pants, sweat dripping from his hair onto Bruce’s shoulder, rolling down his spine. “Wouldn’t -- can’t fuckin’ have you, Bruce. They can’t -- I’d fuckin’ kill all of them before --”

“I know,” Bruce says, reaching back with his arm, digging his nails into the nape of Harvey’s neck. “Come on.”

“God _dammit_ , Bruce,” Harvey says and pushes Bruce forward again, grips his hips and pounds into him until Harvey’s hoarse, ragged shout is the only thing Bruce can hear, until he can feel Harvey’s come filling him up, dripping down the inside of his thighs when Harvey pulls out and spins him around, drops down and kneels in front of him. 

Harvey’s eyes are still black saucers when he looks up at him. He winks when he wraps his mouth around him, and Bruce comes almost immediately, hips bucking into Harvey’s mouth and choking him with the force of it. 

“Motherfucker,” Harvey says, laughing as he sits back and wipes his mouth. “How many times have I asked you to fucking warn me?”

Bruce shrugs lazily, licks his lips and tries to focus his eyes. The coke’s still hitting him hard. He’s not used to it like Harvey is. “Not enough apparently.”

Harvey lays all the way back on the carpet, raises his hand and flips him off. “You’re an asshole, Bruce.”

“You love it,” Bruce says, not bothering to zip his pants back up as he walks across the room to get another drink, nudging Harvey in the leg when he walks by. 

“Mm,” Harvey says, pouring another line out as he watches Bruce walk away from him. “Maybe I do.”


End file.
